Clear and Convincing Evidence
by pgrabia
Summary: New evidence of abuse spurs House to action while a revelation to Wilson causes tension between the friends and lovers. Pt. 5 of "The Law of House" series based on short story "Beyond a Reasonable Doubt". H/W slash. Warning: language,abuse, sexuality.


**Clear and Convincing Evidence**

Disclaimer: House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

A/N: This is part five of "The Law of House" series established on the short story "Beyond a Reasonable Doubt". Please comment—it helps me improve my writing!

**Warning**: H/W slash, relationship established.

**Rated T +** for language, violence and sexuality. Discretion advised.

Lying on the Emergency Room examination bed Dr. Gregory House winced as the ER doc cleaned and stitched the slash on his collar bone. Dr. Terri Lowe, the doctor who had replaced Dr. Cameron when she had resigned, had offered him local anesthetic before beginning but House had scoffed at the idea, telling her that Lidocaine was for wimps. After the first stitch he wished he had taken her up on her offer. He knew he could still request it but his pride wouldn't allow him to change his mind. So he gritted his teeth, inhaling quickly every time the needle pierced his flesh; in some places the wound was deeper than others and required a second layer of stitches made with dissolvable thread.

After five stitches Lowe stopped. "Are you sure you don't want a little freezing, Dr. House?" she offered again, looking at him with pretty grey eyes. "It's got to hurt pretty badly. I promise to keep it a secret."

"Are you patronizing me?" he growled at her.

"Not at all," she replied calmly and he could see her smile behind the mask she wore over her mouth and nose. "I just thought it might save you some money at your next dental check-up, what with all that teeth-grinding you're doing."

"Just get on with it," he grumbled. "How old are you anyway? You look like you just went from diapers into big girl pants."

"I'm twenty-nine, Doctor," she responded. "I've been wearing big girl pants for a long time."

House winced with the next jab. He had to admit that she was actually quite gentle at it but that didn't mean he had to admit it to her.

"So," Lowe said to him as she worked. "Care to share the story behind these cuts? Spurned girlfriend?"

House glared up at her. He wasn't in the best of moods and at the best of times he wasn't a 'chatter', so when he found himself talking he was a little surprised. "Boyfriend," he said, watching her eyes for a reaction. "It wasn't him. It was a jerk who jumped me because I have a boyfriend."

He saw no reaction at all from her other than a frown when she said, "That just really infuriates me," she told him. "You don't know how many cases in a week I see come in here with injuries received as a result of bigotry. Race, religion, ethnicity, politics, sexual orientation and preference…I'd love to see the day when I didn't have to be stitching people up for being who they are."

House said nothing to that. He had often thought that himself. The moronic biases people held on to about things that shouldn't matter had always held a dark fascination for him, caused him to question the human race as a whole.

"So, I'm new here," she said to him. "What do you do here for pocket change?"

"I head up the Diagnostics department," he said. "Your predecessor was once a member of my team."

"Ah, so you're the _world-famous_ Dr. House," Lowe said with a nod. "Gee, I was expecting some Grecian god after listening to some of my colleagues at the last hospital I worked when they found out I was going to work here."

House refrained from smiling at the irony. "Are you implying I'm not?"

"Gods don't have infarctions," she told him bluntly. The way she said it held no recrimination or mockery. The fact that she displayed absolutely no pity impressed him.

"How did you know it was an infarction?" House asked her. "Somebody around here tell you?"

"No," she replied. "I just knew what to look for. My brother was training as a triathelete for the World's a few years back when he injured his foot. The foot healed fine, but it spawned clots that travelled his body. One caused an infarction in his calf. It's a good thing he had his wife to help him through that. Unfortunately he wasn't as fortunate as you were."

House frowned, not because she had called the result of his infarction as fortunate but because he _knew_ he was fortunate as far as blood clots were concerned.

"What?" he asked. "Did he lose his leg or something?"

Lowe finished off a neat knot and looked him in the eyes. "Nope. His life. He lost the leg first, was given clot-busters…it didn't stop another one from hitting a lung. He was home alone at the time and was in too much pain to get to the phone. Nobody heard his screams. By the time his wife got home from picking up his prescription from the pharmacy he'd suffered a rupture and drowned in his own blood."

"Shit," House said softly, stunned. The ER doc noticed his discomfort.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, Dr. House."

After a minute or two of silence House managed to ask, "How's his wife?" he asked quietly. He had no clue why he even cared but he did.

"She's doing well now," Lowe answered. "My nephew was born four months after my brother died. It was hard on her going through the pregnancy and birth alone…not that she was really alone. She had my entire family there for her—still does. Sometimes life doesn't turn out the way you dreamed it would, but that doesn't mean it ends altogether. What matters is how we take what we're given, or in her case, what she had left, and continue on—you know? Of course you do…you lost most of the function of your leg but instead of giving up you kept going, kept practicing medicine and earning quite the reputation for yourself. I had several friends apply to be one of your fellows a few years ago because they wanted to learn from your skill and knowledge. My sister-in-law is raising one hell of a little boy, started her own accounting firm and is engaged to be married to a terrific guy. It's about being survivors, however you manage to do it."

He mulled over her words, feeling uncomfortable. He was no hero. His method of survival hadn't been courage unless one counted the kind got from the bottom of Vicodin and liquor bottles. Denial and avoidance had been his way of managing to _exist_, not survive. Lowe seemed to read his mind.

"Hey," the ER doc said to him, her eyes soft, like her voice. "I know about your addiction and the fact that you went through detox and rehab. Nothing remains a secret in a hospital for very long. You're probably rejecting what I said about you being a survivor but you are."

House said deeply, avoiding her gaze, "How do you figure that?" He wished she would just finish stitching his wound so he could get the hell out of there. He didn't like talking about himself, particularly with strangers.

"You're still sober, aren't you?" she asked him in response.

"Yeah," he answered, frowning. "So?"

"So?" Lowe echoed incredulously. "It takes a lot of guts to admit when you have a problem and need help. It takes even more to actually get that help and then carry on after you go home and you don't have guardians protecting you from yourself. It takes a ton more to come back to a place where most of the people you work with know your history and are reluctant to let go of it and give you a second chance." She snipped the last stitch and then looked at her handiwork. "All done—looks pretty good if I do say so myself." She began to put a light dressing over the wound. "So, is your boyfriend coming to pick you up and take you home?"

House sat up and accepted the scrub shirt Lowe handed him to replace his ruined T-shirt. He gingerly pulled it over his head. "He's a patient here right now. He was attacked by the same idiots before me."

The ER doc had removed her gloves and mask and had thrown them into the biohazard waste bin. She shook her head and her face screwed up in concern. "My god! Is he alright?"

"_He will_ be. This time, anyway." House told her with a nod.

"Wait--," Lowe said, something dawning on her. "Was he the doctor brought in a few days ago after having been beaten in the hospital parking lot? I was off that day but I heard about it when I returned."

"That's him," House answered grimly. "I got off easy compared to him. Guess I was fortunate again."

Lowe reached over and put her hand on House's shoulder, giving it a quick, comforting squeeze. House didn't like to be touched by others all that much, but the gesture was actually comforting and he couldn't help but give her a small smile.

"Take care of yourself and your boyfriend, Dr. House," she told him.

"I will," he answered a little gruffly, embarrassed at the kindness she was showing him but at the same time liking it, too. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Hey," Lowe said, shrugging nonchalantly, "it's what they pay me the pocket change to do."

* * *

It was after visiting hours and both Mrs. Talbot from CPS and that harpy Eva Baker had gone home. House had returned to the hospital later in the evening for that very reason. He wasn't intimidated by his patient's mother but he was so revolted by her that he couldn't bring himself to be around her any more than he absolutely had to. He looked into Kenny's room and found the five year old staring up at the ceiling with huge green eyes, fidgeting with the trim of the hospital blanket draped over him.

House walked into his room and immediately took the chart from the end of the bed to have a look.

"Hello, Dr. H," a small voice said to him. The diagnostician looked up from the chart to see Kenny staring at him. He put the chart away and then sat down in the chair next to the bed. In spite of himself a smile escaped across his bearded face.

"You're supposed to be going to sleep," House told him.

"I don't wanna," Kenny told him, shaking his head sadly. "I have bad dreams."

House didn't doubt that. The child had endured abuse at his own mother's hands. It was only natural he would be having nightmares. House still had nightmares from his childhood that often woke him, screaming. The last time it had happened, Wilson was there to comfort him and hold him in his arms until the panic passed. Who did Kenny have--some strange nurse in the middle of the night?

"What kind of bad dreams?" House asked him. "Do you want to talk about them?"

Kenny shrugged, looking at him with troubles eyes. No five-year-old should have troubled eyes, House decided, knowing full well how many thousands upon thousands there were who wore them on a regular basis.

"Do I have to?" he asked.

House shook his head. "No, you don't."

"Would it help me go to sleep?" was the child's next question.

"I don't know," the diagnostician told him honestly, "but I have a doctor who tells me that sometimes talking about things that frighten me or make me sad helps me feel better."

Kenny's five-year-old brain thought that over for a few moments. House really had no idea what he was doing, but if the boy wanted to talk and for some strange, inexplicable reason trusted him, he would listen. This particular child had managed to get past his crusty shell to touch his heart. Once again he was reminded that he was getting soft. Kenny was going to destroy House's surly, heart-as-hard-as-stone reputation.

"If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell my mommy I told you?" the child asked the doctor almost fearfully. House felt something begin to gnaw at the pit of his stomach in anticipation of what he was going to hear.

"I promise," the diagnostician said. He wouldn't tell his mother; he would tell CPS instead.

"Will you hold my hand like you did before, Dr. H?"

House took the boy's hand in his own. He didn't urge Kenny to talk but rather sat quietly waiting for him to speak when he was ready.

After a few seconds and a couple of tears the five year old said, "My mommy hurt my bum today. When Mrs. Talbot went to the bathroom."

House immediately bristled and his jaw set in anger; he had to remind himself not to clench his fists and hurt the small hand he held. It wasn't bad enough that Baker had harmed her son at home but she was brazen enough to do it in a hospital with doctors and nurses everywhere? What the hell was that bitch Talbot thinking leaving Kenny alone for five seconds with the woman accused of nearly killing him?

With more restraint than House figured he had, he forced himself to calm down before he spoke.

"How did she hurt it, Kenny?"

The story the little boy told House next was almost more than the diagnostician could handle hearing. The emotions it conjured up in him were the very ones he had spent nearly his entire life repressing and denying, but since much of his recovery was working on expressing and feeling emotions while regulating them in a healthy way there were breaches in the protective wall he had built around himself, leaving him more vulnerable than ever. He hadn't yet learned and become proficient at using the skills he needed to regulate them well enough.

House had to translate in his mind what he was told into a logical account from the simple language and understanding of a five-year-old. Kenny had returned from the extensive, time-consuming tests which House had ordered to keep the boy safely away from his abusive mother for as long as possible, to find said mother and Mrs. Talbot waiting in his room for him. As long as there was a witness around Eva Baker treated her son as any loving, doting parent would. When Kenny's dinner arrived his mommy helped him eat, treating him gently and talking softly. At one point during dinner Kenny had an unexpected, uncontrollable bowel movement, soiling himself and his bedding; such incidences were not unusual, especially in children and the elderly, after gastrointestinal infections and abdominal surgery where a soft diet was all the patient's system could tolerate. Baker had been attentive and understanding as a nurse was called. After everything had been cleaned up and taken care of the nurse had left them alone. The CPS worker had left the room to make a phone call. While the supervision was lifted for the five to ten minutes Talbot was gone, Baker had 'punished' her son for being a 'bad boy' and embarrassing her in front of strangers.

To punish him Kenny said that his mom had 'put a plug' in his bum using a napkin and the end of a spoon handle; she followed that up with a spanking, holding her hand over the five-year-old's mouth to keep him from crying out and being heard by medical staff. Mrs. Talbot had returned and saw that Kenny had been crying. With the offender in the room she had asked Kenny what was wrong and he told her exactly what his mother had told him to say—that he felt sad because his mommy had to go home soon. Once the two women had left for the evening, Kenny had been too frightened to tell the nursing staff what had been done to him. The only person he had trusted was his doctor, the 'nice' man who held his hand and rubbed his back the last time the child had revealed the torture he had endured from his mother.

House gritted his teeth to keep himself from yelling in fury. He took a few breaths to steady himself. "Kenny," he said softly, his eyes feeling moist. "I have to see what she did so if there is anything wrong I can treat it and make it better. I also need to call your nurse in to help me, okay?"

"Because nurses help doctors, right?" the boy said authoritatively. "That's what Miss Watt told us in school."

In spite of himself House couldn't help but smile. "That's right. Is it okay if I call the nurse now?"

Kenny tightened his hold on the diagnostician's hand. "Are you going to go away?"

House shook his head reassuringly. "I don't have to. I can use your call button."

After a moment of uncertainty the green-eyed child nodded shyly. In those eyes House saw fear and sadness. It was a look he had once worn, a lifetime ago, before he had taught himself how to steel himself, harden his heart and trust no one. He pictured Kenny as a fifty-year-old misanthropic Vicodin addict and shuddered. He pressed the call button that was clipped to the pillow close to the child's head.

As they waited Kenny drew House's hand up to his cheek and nuzzled it in his way of self-soothing. The trust in the boy's face made the diagnostician uncomfortable. He wasn't certain he was someone anyone should put too much trust in; he had a history of hurting people and letting them down. It was touching, but he had no idea what quality it was about him that the child saw and trusted.

Kenny's nurse arrived. "Hi. How can I help you, Doctor?" She regarded the diagnostician pleasantly and House couldn't help but wonder if she was new; had Cuddy suddenly gone on a hiring blitz?

"Kenny has complained about anal pain and I need you to assist me in the examination," House told her, using cloaked language that she understood but the boy didn't. The doctor didn't need a nurse so much as a witness to confirm any finding he may make of new injuries as well as to protect him from any future accusations of impropriety from an angry and vengeful incubator called Eva Baker.

"Yes, Doctor," she said, moving up to stand next to the bed opposite House. The diagnostician rose to his feet.

"Okay, Kenny. I need you to roll over onto your stomach so Dr. House can take a look, okay?" the nurse said as she helped the boy roll over without disturbing his IV line; House went to the small bathroom in the child's room and washed his hands, returned to the bed, set his cane aside and pulled a pair of gloves over his hands. The nurse then followed suit and brought a small light, a scope and tube of lubricating gel.

"Alright, Kenny," House said to the child calmly. "I'm going to lift the back of your gown from your bum." Kenny nodded his head silently. House went to lift the gown and noticed a dark spot on it: blood. He glanced at the nurse and she nodded in acknowledgement. The doctor proceeded to lift the gown to expose the child's buttocks. Whereas House had already steeled himself for what he expected to find Kenny's nurse had not; he heard a rapid intake of air as she saw it.

The cheeks of the boy's bottom were not just pink but a bright red and clear impressions of fingers could be seen, some of which had risen into welts. The area around the anus was also red and irritated and bruising could already be seen around the rim. There were traces of blood. Protruding from the anus itself was a small, paper-like stub that was stained red with more blood. House closed his eyes to block out what he saw and to steady himself. He pulled the boy's gown back down over him.

"I need you to go to the station and have your clerk contact the police and CPS before I go any further," the diagnostician whispered to the nurse. "And have Dr. Cuddy contacted as well. Then come right back."

The nurse nodded and quickly left the room.

Kenny squirmed a little. "Can I move yet, Dr. H?"

"Not yet," House answered. "Are you hurting, Kenny?"

The child shrugged and nodded.

"How bad is it hurting?" the doctor asked him next. "Just a little, bad or really bad?"

"I dunno," Kenny answered, shrugging. "It hurts."

"Once the nurse comes back I can take care of it and then give you medicine to help it not hurt so much."

A minute or two later the nurse returned and gave House a nod that told him that she had completed her task. She rejoined him at the bed.

"I need an extraction kit," he told her quietly, "a scope and a basin."

She retrieved the needed items.

"Okay, Kenny," House said to him, "I'm going to start now. It's going to be a little uncomfortable; it might even hurt a little. If it hurts too much I want you to tell me. That's important."

The little boy nodded. His body was trembling in fear. House ignored it, not allowing it to influence what he was about to do. He noticed the nurse touch Kenny's hand comfortingly.

With great care and precision the diagnostician began to slowly expand the anal opening with a retractor. Automatically the sphincter began to spasm as it was designed to do. Using forceps he carefully began to remove the foreign material from the child's colon and placed it into the basin. The napkin was not one large piece but rather several smaller pieces. As he removed each piece he took note of any bleeding, abrasions and bruising. At one point he glanced over at the nurse whose eyes frowned in disgust and horror, but she was too professional to make any sounds or comments. Kenny made small whimpers and the odd "ow" but otherwise remained unusually quiet and still for his age. Every so often House would pause and check with the boy if he was alright before proceeding again.

Once he suspected he had removed the last piece House used the hand scope to inspect the colon to make certain everything had been removed. There were no abrasions serious enough to warrant further action.

"Flush to ensure all of the smaller fibers and removed," he instructed the nurse in a murmur. "Corticosteroid cream to reduce the swelling and inflammation. Liquid Motrin for pain PRN. Bag what we removed for the police." House was having difficulty speaking; his throat was literally constricting with revulsion that he refused to visibly display. "Hold off on icing the area until the police are finished here."

She nodded, meeting his eyes briefly. They held the question she would not verbalize: _How could someone do that to this child?_ House had no answer, even if he was willing to offer her one.

"We're finished, Kenny," House told him. "The nurse is going to finish cleaning the area and then she'll give you some medication to help it hurt less." House went to the bathroom to remove his gloves and wash his hands again. The knots in his stomach pained him. There was no way that kind of thing was going to happen to the five-year-old again, even if it meant he camped out in Kenny Baker's room to make certain it didn't. He kicked himself for not fighting harder to keep the boy's mother completely away from him but he wouldn't make that mistake again. The child was safe for now, but come morning he was at risk unless the diagnostician acted. He hoped that after the police and CPS would see the evidence that Eva Baker was continuing the abuse even while under investigation and would bar her from all contact with her son, supervised or not.

Before he left House went back to the child. "You're very brave," he told Kenny softly and placed his hand on the boy's head, ruffling his hair affectionately. He noticed Kenny's nurse watching him with a hint of a smile on her face. He frowned at her. "You never saw that." House informed her.

"Saw what?" she responded, her smile disappearing. House left the room, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He liked her.

He made his way to Wilson's room, popping a Naproxen in his mouth and swallowing it dry the same way he used to take Vicodin; for all of its deleterious effects the opiate had had on him, it worked ten times better at relieving the pain in his leg than the painkillers he was allowed to take now.

* * *

Wilson lay awake in his room, fidgeting with his hands anxiously. Lisa Cuddy had visited him before heading home for the day and during their conversation she had "accidently" slipped and told him about the attack on House. Besides being greatly upset and worried by the news he was angry that the diagnostician hadn't informed him about it himself. He was also angry at Cuddy for interfering where she didn't belong, letting it slip to him knowing it would anger him to hear about it from her. The oncologist knew what House's excuses would be—that it was nothing serious, that he was fine, that he didn't want to upset Wilson with news of something that he couldn't do anything about. The oncologist wished his best friend and lover could get it through his thick skull that he _needed_ to know if something happened to the older doctor because he loved him and wanted to be there for him, sick and injured or not.

After Cuddy's visit Wilson hadn't been able to rest. He'd tried watching some TV but couldn't pay attention to anything that was on. He knew that House would be around eventually because he would camp out in the chair all night whether Wilson wanted him to or not. The diagnostician didn't like to display his emotions openly, even to him, but the man was incredibly loyal and protective of the few people he allowed himself to care about and love. That's why, Wilson knew, the older man hadn't told him about the attack in the first place.

House finally arrived around a quarter to ten. He appeared surprised to find Wilson still awake and waiting for him. There was a look of consternation on his bearded face as he set himself down in the chair next to the oncologist.

"Don't you ever sleep?" House asked him. "What's that look all about?"

The oncologist looked at his lover with anger and hurt. "Did you go home to get some rest?" he asked.

"Yes," the diagnostician answered but he couldn't hide certain tells Wilson had learned over the years that betrayed the older man's guilt about something. "I would have been here sooner but I had to treat Kenny Baker for yet another act of abuse inflicted upon him by his mother."

Shaking his head in confusion, Wilson allowed his partner to deflect for the moment. "How? I thought she was being supervised during her visits."

"Supposedly," House muttered. "The stupid worker left the mother alone with Kenny to make a phone call. In the five minutes she was gone his mother shoved a napkin up the kid's ass and spanked him for having an accidental B.M. in his bed. After I removed it I had to file the report and give a statement to the police before I could come here. The kid was terrified." The diagnostician closed his eyes briefly and shook his head.

Wilson couldn't believe how much this one particular child's predicament broke down the surly doctor's usual indifference. First there had been the nightmare, and twice now House had come to him to talk about Kenny Baker's unfortunate situation. As far as House went, he seemed to be almost obsessed about it. It made the oncologist wonder why.

However, that wasn't what he wanted to talk to his lover about.

"Come here," he told House simply, pulling on the other man's shirt. House looked at him quizzically until he realized what Wilson wanted and then smiled and willingly leaned over to place a tender kiss on his mouth. As he withdrew the oncologist grabbed the collar of his shirt and nearly tore the buttons off as he pulled it open to expose the dressing underneath. Wilson glared up at him accusingly.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" he harshly demanded of the diagnostician. "When we made love next and you couldn't hide it from me any longer?"

House pulled away and sat back in the chair, just out of Wilson's reach. He was obviously angry, glowering. "Who told you about it?" he demanded. "Was it Cuddy? It was, wasn't it?"

"What difference does it make?" the younger doctor answered. "What matters is that you didn't come and tell me yourself. Why? Why didn't you trust me enough to come to me about this?"

"It wasn't a matter of trust," House muttered. "It was _nothing_—a small skirmish. I received a couple of harmless cuts. Noddrick ended up worse off than I did. It wasn't worth bothering you about."

"Bullshit!" his lover told him. "He could have slit your throat open!"

"But he didn't!" House snapped and then softened his tone. "There's no use thinking of what could have been. A couple stitches and I'm good as new."

"_Thirty-two_ stitches," Wilson corrected. "You didn't think I would be upset when I found out?"

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you!" the diagnostician exclaimed. He exhaled loudly and ran his fingers through his very short hair. "You're the one who nearly died. I didn't want to upset you while you were recovering. Cuddy was an insensitive idiot to come running to you about this in your condition!"

The oncologist was silent for a moment. Cuddy had been an idiot. He didn't know why she had felt it was necessary to be so petty and squeal on House the way she had. She was doing a lot of things lately that were unlike her, that made no sense. That didn't take away from the disappointment Wilson felt about House not coming to him about it.

"You don't think that your getting hurt is important enough to bother me about it?" he asked the older doctor quietly. "How many times have I told you how important you are to me? I don't care if I'm breathing my last breath—I want to know when you're hurt! You are the most important person in the world to me! Greg! When you hurt, _I_ hurt. Please don't shut me out; I'm stronger than you think."

House had been staring at the floor. He looked up with his azure eyes to meet Wilson's. When he looked up at him like that the oncologist's resolve melted every time. All he wanted to do was pull the older man into bed with him and hold him close and remind him just how much he was loved. Hospital beds were not all that conducive to such desires, however.

"I'm sorry," the diagnostician whispered genuinely.

That was all Wilson needed to hear. "Come back here," he told his lover. House's somber expression warmed a little as he did as he was told, moving close enough to Wilson to kiss him. The oncologist cupped the older man's face in his hands and then began to place gentle kisses around his mouth without actually making contact with the diagnostician's lips. He could hear the increase in House's breathing and his lips quivered hungrily. Wilson knew he was driving his lover wild when he barely touched his lips with the tip of his tongue and a small groan of desire left the older man's throat. He toyed with House that way until he himself could stand it no longer, and he covered his partner's mouth with his own. House groaned again and in his excitement took over control, grabbing Wilson's head with one hand while running his fingers through the younger's dark brown hair with the other. The oncologist could feel another tongue nearly ram itself into his mouth with passion, roaming, feeling, entwining with his own. It was electrifying. He moaned himself wanting the kiss to go deeper, feeling himself beginning to respond, desiring to go beyond mere kissing. When House withdrew some but kept his lips touching Wilson's the younger man whispered, "God I wish I wasn't laid up in this damned hospital! I want you so badly!"

The older man grinned against the younger's mouth. "Me too," he told him, breathing hard. "Wait until I get you home!"

"What are you going to do to me," the oncologist asked and then bit his lover's lower lip playfully. House began to tell him in great detail what he had planned to welcome him home, his words only increasing Wilson's desire. Unable to hold back he passionately kissed the older man, leaving no doubt exactly what it was he wanted at that very moment. "Why don't you give me a little preview?" he said between kisses.

House pulled back and grinned at him. "Right here, right now? What if someone should walk in?"

Wilson gave him a lop-sided, decidedly sexy smile. "Like the idea of that happening doesn't turn you on!"

With a chuckle his lover replied, "If you think you're up to it…?"

"Believe me," the oncologist breathed, "I'm _up_ to it!"

House, still grinning, lifted the blankets and climbed under them so that his head and torso was hidden beneath them. Wilson closed his eyes and gasped when the diagnostician began to pleasure him in the most incredible ways. He moaned softly, clawing at the mattress and covers in delight.

"Oh my god, Greg!" the younger man gasped as he felt himself nearing climax. He felt a twinge of discomfort from the muscles of his abdomen as they tightened in response but he barely noticed it compared to the ecstasy he found himself in. He felt like he was about to explode any second and he began to groan louder despite the fact that he was trying to remain quiet for privacy sake. "Oh my god!...Greg…Greg…_Fuck_, _Greg! _Yes, oh god_, YES…!_"

He cried out his lover's name as he climaxed, losing complete control of himself and his mind in the magnitude of his orgasm. He couldn't think or speak but he could giggle uncontrollably until he began to come down from the high of it.

When House reemerged he had a crooked smile on his face, which was flushed from the warmth of being under the blanket and his own arousal. He moved up to be near Wilson's grinning face again and gently caressed the younger man's face.

"There's going to be one unhappy nurse who's going to be changing your bedding," he murmured. This made the oncologist laugh.

"I promise to return the favor," Wilson vowed.

"You're damned right you will," the diagnostician told him huskily. "I'm holding you to it!"

"I think I can sleep now," the oncologist told him drowsily.

"Good for you," House said with mock-anger, standing up. Wilson could see just how aroused his lover was. "I don't think I can."

"Well," Wilson answered coyly, "I think if we put our heads together we can figure out a way to solve that problem!"

House grinned with approval.


End file.
